


All Shook Up

by annejumps



Series: All Shook Up [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, First Date, Groping, M/M, Making Out, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the 1950s styling in <a href="http://flauntmagazine.com/features/123/quantum-mechanic">those photos of JGL</a> in <i>Flaunt</i> magazine #123, and <a href="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y284/sajee82/208m.jpg">that one photo of Tom sipping on a Coke</a>. Arthur's the mysterious boy in the leather jacket who smokes, and Eames can't stop thinking about him. (Now with a sequel, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/525924">One Night With You</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Shook Up

**Author's Note:**

> Also happens to fit [this prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/20822.html?thread=50240086); semi-inspired by [this graphic](http://thelegendends.tumblr.com/post/31011000072/au-arthur-eames-inception-54-55-arthur), if not the text. Thanks to Liz and Amy for reading this over! It kinda happened quickly.

The first time Eames sees Arthur, before he knows his name, Arthur’s leaning against the wall of the gym with a foot propped up on it, in black leather shoes, dungarees, and a black leather jacket, a forbidden cigarette held between his thumb and forefinger, other hand in his pocket. He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, and cuts a glance at Eames, furrowing his brow, but not in a you-caught-me glare of hostility. Rather, it’s a look of cool interest, that leaves Eames slowing his walk, watching him exhale a stream of soft white smoke into the cool autumn air, looking for all the world as if he weren’t standing outside a high school at all.

Eames will be late for practice if he doesn’t get going, and he still has play rehearsal and homework tonight.

In bed, however, exhausted as he is, he can’t seem to get to sleep. He can’t help remembering the boy he’d seen, replaying again and again the moment their eyes met. His had been dark, appraising. But Eames had no idea what conclusion he’d had come to about him, if any. Eames, in his varsity sweater and chinos, must have not looked like his type at all.

Anyhow, he knows it’s very bad to touch himself while thinking of him, but he just can’t seem to help that, either. Besides, no one has to know.

He doesn’t see him again until he’s at the malt shop on Saturday. He’s sitting at the counter sipping a Coke from the bottle with a straw as he likes to do, waiting for Beth and John and Mary to show up, when the bell on the door jangles and in _he_ walks again, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and without a word he takes the seat next to Eames, even though there are plenty of other places to sit.

Eames dimly registers him ordering an egg cream from the soda jerk, caught up in his own pounding heartbeat, feeling uncharacteristically tongue-tied as he sips his Coke. He glances quickly over, at the way the boy’s almost-black hair is combed back in a soft pompadour, shaved close along the sides, the cut making Eames think of the way his mother warned him about the bad crowd at school.

The boy catches him looking when he takes his drink from the jerk, and smiles. He has dimples, Eames is shocked to see. His eyes are warm, and there’s something else in them. He takes a sip of his egg cream and then says to Eames, “So. What’s your name?”

Eames stammers, totally unlike the boy who has the lead in the school play, “Um, William, but everyone calls me Eames.”

“I’m Arthur. So, you’re English?” Arthur looks interested and Eames feels himself blushing. “Er, yes. Born there, Army brat.”

“Right.” Arthur nods. He shifts back, hooking the arm closest to Eames behind the back of his chair, and Eames swallows and miraculously remembers how to hold a conversation, and does his best even though his palms are sweating and he’s sure Arthur can hear a shake in his voice as he talks about the places where he grew up before he moved here.

Beth, John, and Mary show up, smiling and chatting, and Eames waves at them as they go to their usual booth. They look at him curiously, but he keeps talking to Arthur.

Arthur leaves with him when Eames has to go home, and he forgets to say goodbye to Beth, John, and Mary.

Outside, Arthur offers him a ride home. It’s getting dark, and it is kind of chilly, and why not? Eames could walk home if he wanted, but it’s kind of a long way. His mother wouldn’t be happy, but she doesn’t have to know.

Arthur’s car is sleek and black, and while he casually mentions working on it, he doesn’t brag. Most of the way to Eames’ house, they talk about the work he’s done on it. Eames is so distracted by thoughts of Arthur working on his car, in dungarees and a white shirt, covered in grease, that he nearly forgets to tell Arthur where to turn.

Just before Eames gets out of the car, Arthur touches his hand. It’s all he can think about for days.

He doesn’t see Arthur at school for more than a glance between classes, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about him.

Saturday evening, after supper, Eames looks out of his bedroom window to see leaves swirling under the streetlamp. He’s unaccountably glum, and unable to concentrate on his schoolwork, which he usually tries to complete on Saturday night, if he’s not going out, and he just doesn’t feel like going out tonight.

Then, there’s the sound of a quiet engine, and he sees, unbelievably, what looks like Arthur’s car pulling up to the curb.

Before his mother can see and start asking questions, without opting to put on a sweater Eames opens his bedroom window and climbs out onto the porch roof. He jumps down onto the grass, walks to Arthur’s car, and gets in. Arthur nods at him, and drives off into the quiet, dark night.

They’re quiet, and Eames is starting to feel uncertain. He swallows. “Where... where are we going, Arthur?”

Arthur glances over at him, and smiles. “Just thought we’d drive around.”

They’re driving down the road that leads to the drive-in, Eames realizes, and he isn’t surprised when Arthur asks, “Wanna see a movie?”

Eames will never be able to remember what movie was playing.

By the time they get there, the movie’s started, and Arthur doesn’t seem at all concerned. They’re at the back, and Arthur doesn’t get any drinks or candy. Eames turns to ask him something he forgets the moment he realizes Arthur is leaning in and kissing him.

Eames had met a pretty little blonde girl named Susan over the summer, and they’d necked a bit. It had been pleasant enough. But here in Arthur’s car, smelling the leather of his jacket and the odor of his cigarettes, and his aftershave and whatever he put in his hair, things are entirely different. The tip of Arthur’s tongue slides over Eames’ lips, and with a little gasp he parts them. Smoothly, Arthur takes advantage, leaning in and kissing him more deeply, Eames’ tongue trying to respond in kind. Arthur’s fingers touch his jaw, and Eames makes a soft sound. Arthur breaks the kiss, looking at him with his eyes impossibly dark and his cheeks flushed, and Eames says, voice sounding not like his own, “What if someone sees?”

Arthur laughs. “If that’s all you’re worried about, let’s ditch this place.” Before Eames can protest, Arthur’s turning the engine on and leaving the drive-in.

“Now where are we going?” Eames asks, but Arthur doesn’t answer. Some minutes later, he turns off the dark road into an orchard, lit only by moonlight, driving in some distance from the road, his lights off. When he parks, he turns to Eames, silent and calm, expectant.

“I’m not--” Eames begins, and clears his throat. “I’m not--” he tries again, not even sure what he’s saying he’s not, but as if to say _Yes you are_ Arthur leans in again and kisses him.

Eames clutches at him, pulls him closer, frustrated by the barrier of the leather jacket. His head swims as Arthur bites lightly at his lips, slips an arm around him. Eames gets his seeking hands under Arthur’s jacket, to the soft cotton of his shirt, and finally under it, and Arthur hums in approval. Eames feels a welling of pleasure at this positive sign from Arthur, and doesn’t mind in the slightest that Arthur’s slowly pushing him to lie back on the bench seat.

Arthur’s weight on him feels heavenly. He’s slowly rocking his hips against Eames’ as he kisses him, pressing their hardnesses together through their layers of clothes. Eames has to break to catch his breath, and he blinks up at Arthur, who looks unearthly and beautiful in the moonlight. “Arthur,” he can only think to gasp out, and Arthur closes his eyes for a moment.

“What do you want?” Eames whispers, and Arthur doesn’t answer, just kisses him again, raising himself up then almost suddenly, sitting upright to Eames’ great disappointment. Arthur appears to be momentarily composing himself, and then he says, “I’ve been, um. I’ve been thinking about... your mouth.” He actually sounds a little nervous, a little breathless. Eames realizes with surprise that he’s affecting Arthur just like Arthur is affecting him. Well, maybe Eames is a little more dazzled.

“What about it?”

“I just... can you... Eames--” Arthur is shifting, sitting back and spreading his knees, and unbuttoning his dungarees, and Eames feels a shock of lust like a physical punch. He knows what Arthur’s getting at; he knows it’s not at all something he should be even contemplating, or should even know about, probably. But right now, he doesn’t really care.

With some difficulty, feeling like he’s all limbs, Eames gets down on his knees on the floor of the car, not caring what this is doing to the material of his chinos. He can see Arthur’s white boxer shorts almost glowing in the moonlight, and rather than wait for Arthur to offer himself, to seemingly their mutual surprise he reaches into Arthur’s flies.

This is Eames’ first time seeing another hard cock, although he’s seen soft ones often enough in the locker room. This is certainly the first time he’s touched another one, although if he’s completely honest, it’s something he’s thought about doing. The thoughts, however, are only vague in comparison to this reality, Arthur hot in his hand, his breaths coming sharp. Eames thinks about what Arthur said, that he’s been thinking about this, and he takes a shuddering breath. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice alarmingly husky, and Arthur lets out a little gasp like Eames’ words hurt him.

“Wrap your hand around me and lick the tip,” Arthur instructs, hoarse.

Eames does. Arthur’s skin is smooth, and while Eames’ tongue is tentative at first, he’s too curious and too eager to please to not take longer, more exploratory licks. Arthur’s obviously trying to keep himself still; Eames feels gratified, proud to please even though he’s a novice.

Arthur clears his throat, and Eames pauses, looking up at him through his lashes. Arthur’s obviously pink-faced even in the moonlight. For a moment, Arthur looks like he’s forgotten what he was going to say; then he says, still hoarse, “Put your lips around me.”

Eames moves his hand a bit to take Arthur into his mouth. Arthur groans, soft, distracted, sounding as if he’s tipped his head back. One hand goes to Eames’ hair, gently stroking through it as Eames closes his lips around Arthur, the flat of his tongue stroking him. He can hear Arthur’s other hand trying to clutch at the seat, finding no purchase.

Eames takes Arthur in as deeply as he can manage, experimenting, and then keeps his lips tight as he slowly draws off. “Yes,” Arthur is hissing quietly, as if to himself, and Eames does it again, and Arthur says “Yes, god, just like that,” sounding increasingly desperate, and Eames does it again and again; then there’s a soft cry breaking in Arthur’s throat when his cock is well inside Eames’ mouth, and his tongue is flooded with warm, slightly salty fluid. Eames is surprised, one hand going to press against his own cock, which is throbbing at the realization of what’s just happened.

He sits back a bit, swallowing, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Arthur blinking down at him in a daze as he catches his breath. “Shit,” he says, “I’m sorry, Eames, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Eames replies, still tasting Arthur in his mouth, feeling how swollen his lips are.

“C’mere,” Arthur says, doing up his flies, and gestures for Eames to sit. At first it’s not clear where, but Arthur rests part of one leg up on the seat, directing Eames to sit in front of him, back to his chest. Eames does, heart pounding, and then Arthur’s biting his earlobe, kissing the tender spot behind his ear and then down his neck, almost distracting Eames from how Arthur’s hand is unbuttoning his chinos and working into his underwear.

At the feeling of Arthur’s hand around him, Eames’ hips buck, and Arthur sucks lightly at his neck. The action pushes Eames’ cock into Arthur’s hand, and he lets out a gasp that’s almost a sob when Arthur starts to stroke him. Christ, he’d never imagined something could feel so good. Certainly he’d done this to himself but Arthur’s hand is big and hot and calloused and new-feeling, his squeezing firm, and when he flicks his thumb over the head of Eames’ cock Eames just can’t help but groan, a wanton sound that shocks him. Arthur, however, growls low in his throat at the sound, and that in combination with his sure strokes sends Eames over the edge. He closes his eyes, panting as he rocks his hips into Arthur’s grip.

Arthur’s whispering things, lips brushing the skin of his neck. Eames lets himself slowly sag back against Arthur, the two of them breathing loudly in the quiet. Arthur wipes his hand on Eames’ underwear, tucking him back in, and Eames turns to face him over his shoulder. Arthur’s gaze is steady, calm now, but still burning hot somewhere in its depths. Eames shifts to kiss him, sucking lightly at his lips, and Arthur inhales. Their kisses now are languid, and Eames finds himself thinking of staying out all night with Arthur until he realizes his mother will certainly notice him missing. Pulling back, reluctant, he sighs.

“I need to get home, I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but says nothing. Eames, with some difficulty, extricates himself and sits back on his side of the seat. Arthur starts the car, and they leave the orchard, Eames still pondering the taste of Arthur still present in his mouth.

They pull up to the curb outside of Eames’ house. Nothing appears to be in disarray; his mother probably hasn’t noticed he’s gone yet. He can shimmy back up a porch column and get back into his room. Maybe... maybe someday Arthur could follow.

Eames looks back at Arthur, and catches an odd expression on his face; instead of cool and appraising, he looks more wide-eyed, a question in his eyes, what might even be termed yearning, if Eames were being optimistic.

Eames thinks of what girls would say to him when he dropped them off after dates, dates far more trivial than this one had been, if this could even be classified as a date. “I had a lovely time,” he says in a low, soft voice, leaning in to kiss Arthur’s cheek, only for Arthur to cup his jaw at the last minute and kiss him full on the mouth, one perfectly firm, closed-mouth kiss that nonetheless thrills Eames to his toes.

Arthur pulls back reluctantly, keeping his gaze locked with Eames as he murmurs, “Let’s do it again sometime.”

Eames nods a little too eagerly as he fumbles the car door open. He’s sure he’s blushing.

“Eames,” Arthur says, amused, “your fly.”

Eames looks down. “Right, right,” he says, and hastily buttons himself. “Well. Good night, Arthur,” he says, suddenly shy, getting out of the car, wishing he didn’t have to.

“Good night, Eames. Sweet dreams,” Arthur replies, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> (Now with a sequel, [One Night With You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/525924).)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] All Shook Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8756170) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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